


Crimes and Misdemeanors

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-05-06
Updated: 1999-05-06
Packaged: 2018-11-11 01:19:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11138373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Ray is sent to jail and Fraser goes in to protect him. Not related to the episode Witness.





	Crimes and Misdemeanors

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Crimes and Misdemeanors

# Crimes and Misdemeanors

J. Soper-Cook, (c) 1995

Paul Gross as Cst. Benton Fraser  
David Marciano as Det. Raymond Vecchio  
Kim Robarts as Warden Karen Walker  
Jim Carrey as "Crazy" Jim McDaniels  
The Beginning: 

Possession: 

Listen as the wind blows from across the great divide. Voices trapped in yearning, memories dropped in time. The night is my companion and solitude my guide. Would I spend forever here and not be satisfied... 

(Sarah McLaughlin, from Fumbling Towards Ecstasy.) 

"Benny, Benny *Benny*! Just think, it'll be perfect: clear blue Canadian skies, fresh snow--hey, lookit, I'll even try those skis you got me. Huh?" Detective Raymond Vecchio grinned up at his friend from his position behind his desk. "It'll be great." 

"Ray. I'm not sure we should just take off right in the middle of this assignment: McMurphy is a known killer and if we play our cards right---" 

"I am not talking about playing cards, Benny!" Vecchio sighed in exasperation, pressed a hand to his forehead. Why the *hell* did Fraser have to be so damned tight-assed about this? The man was a walking pile of duty, for God's sake. "My four weeks vacation I got coming to me after getting injured in the line of duty." 

"Line of duty?" The tall Mountie raised an eyebrow in appreciation of this particular exaggeration. "For God's sakes, Ray; I shot you!" Benton Fraser glanced down at the American. "And it was hardly in the line of duty." 

"Fine. So we were snooping around the hospital, you happened to uncover a dirty deal going down, I *happened* to be in the neighbourhood---" 

"You were trying to set me up with your cousin." 

"A minor detail--" 

"Vecchio! See you for a minute?" 

Both men turned at the sound of Lt. Harding Welsh's voice, and Fraser moved off of Ray's desk to stand respectfully near the filing cabinets. He nodded at the older man as he moved into their range. "Good morning, sir." 

"Fraser." Welsh nodded in acknowledgement. "Vecchio---" He slapped a pile of folders onto Ray's desk, dislodging a spray of fine dust. "I got news--" 

"With all due respect sir, I'm just leaving on winter vacation---" 

"You know how hard we've been tracking this McMurphy clown?" 

Ray nodded, felt the base of his gut tighten. No way was Welsh gonna take this vacation away from him, he *deserved* it, dammit! "Nobody is more aware than myself, sir." 

"We got him." 

Fraser jumped away from the filing cabinets as if burned; his glance darted from Vecchio to Welsh, back again. "You got him?" His heart was inexplicably hammering in his throat. 

"We got him." Welsh nodded to the Mountie. "Thanks to you, Vecchio, all the work you put in on this case. We nailed the bastard." 

Ray felt a warm flush wash over him, and his mouth was suddenly dry. 'I caught him!' he thought triumphantly, 'I got the bastard!" "Thank you, sir. But--" He turned towards the tall Mountie, standing quietly nearby. "It was as much Constable Fraser as myself, sir. We were very much a team." 

Welsh reached across and slapped Vecchio on the shoulder. "You did good--you too, Fraser." He flipped open a folder, swiveled it so both Vecchio and Fraser could view the contents. "But I'm afraid---" 

"Oh God, *no*!" Vecchio moaned as if in pain, and for all intents and purposes, he was--deep, psychic pain, the kind of pain that inevitably heralded such disasters as losing one's winter vacation.... 

"Vecchio!" Welsh's voice held a note of warning. "Grow the hell up, wouldya?" 

"Ohhhh, God...." Ray sank back into his chair, cradled his chin in one hand. "So much for my new skis." 

"Listen: all I want is a coupla days--he's going to trial immediately, and the state's attorney asked that you testify. Your testimony is all we need to get this piece of trash extradited to Canada--let the snowbacks deal with him---no offense, Fraser." 

"None taken, sir." Fraser cleared his throat. Snowback? 

"Take this home, both of you, and read it---Madam State's Attorney will take a chunk outta both your butts if you make her look stupid on the stand. You got it?" 

Ray flinched at the painful visual imagery *that* particular piece of language conjured up, and nodded. "Yes, sir." 

"Tomorrow morning. He's going up tomorrow morning, nine o'clock sharp. I want you--" Welsh pointed at Fraser with his pen, "--and *you*, Vecchio, all spit-shined and polished and ready to spill your guts. Got it?" 

Vecchio and Fraser watched as Welsh moved off, waited until the door closed behind him before either of them spoke. 

"They got him," Ray said quietly. "They got the bastard, Benny." 

"*We* got him, Ray. You and I." Fraser grabbed a pile of the folders, roughly half, and pushed the other half across the desk towards Ray. "Since we're supposed to go through this together, do you want to eat at my place tonight? I'm sure your mother won't mind. And, I could use your help to fill in the gaps in this case." 

"Fine. Tonight's meatloaf night anyway---" Ray grimaced. "I think Frannie's cooking--Christ! You'll save me the trip to the ER later for botulism shots..." 

"Oh come on, Ray; I'm sure Francesca's cooking isn't that bad---" 

Ray made a face. 

"Oh, by the way---" Fraser neatly picked his hat off the filing cabinet as he passed by "--have I ever taught you how to spit-shine?" 

The courtroom was empty save for the representing attorneys, when McMurphy was led in between two bailiffs, head down and in shackles. Since this was just an extradition hearing, and not a full trial, there were no spectators, and no witnesses except for Vecchio and Fraser. 

"There he is." Vecchio elbowed Fraser in the ribs. "Bastard." 

Fraser slid his glance across to where McMurphy sat between the bailiffs, absently picking at the clasp of his handcuffs. A shiver slid down the Mountie's spine as his mind recalled the horrors that McMurphy had committed, all laid out so neatly between the covers of those dark-brown precinct folders. Murder...rape...but those words were far too neat, too sanitized to describe the unspeakable acts that this monster had committed. 

"I can't read any more of this, Fraser, this is too fucking sick even for me." Ray had made this declaration late last night, when they'd finished off a pizza and a six-pack, and had managed to whittle their way through most of the stack of folders. 

"Hey, you alright?" Fraser had looked across the table at the American, whose hands were pressed tight against his eyes. "I mean, we can stop---" 

"No." Ray had picked up another from the pile, laid it down again without opening it, his gaze suddenly far away. "How does this happen, Fraser?" He tapped the closed cover with his thumb. 

"What do you mean, Ray?" Fraser pulled the tab on another beer, slid the empty pizza box out of the way. 

"Jesus--" Ray swallowed hard. "I can't stop thinking about those girls...what kind of a monster--I got a sister, Fraser! How do I know some sick fuck isn't stalking Frannie, waiting to do these things to her---" 

"*Ray*." Fraser's voice was firm. "Frannie's fine." 

The American took a deep breath, rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, yeah...you're right." 

And now that monster was sitting across from him... Fraser pulled himself out of his reverie, sat back against the chair. He couldn't look at McMurphy without wanting to pound the living shit out of him...so it was better not to look at him at all. 

"All rise." The bailiff's voice rang out, as the door of the judge's chambers opened, and Ray tugged at Fraser's sleeve. Fine, Fraser thought, let's get this over with. The quicker he got McMurphy out of his mind, the better. 

Ray was on the stand, and things were not going well. Even Fraser was nervous, and Ray was beginning to sweat up there--- Fraser could see the faint sheen of moisture on his forehead. This wasn't good. Louise St. Laurent, the state's attorney, was drilling Vecchio mercilessly about his involvement in the case, and it didn't take a trained attorney to see where this was headed. 

She's trying to trap him into confessing that he fabricated evidence, Fraser thought. This made him angry. Ray was a good cop, one of the best, always knocking himself out to make sure he got the job done--damn her! Whose side was she on, anyway? 

"Is it true, Detective Vecchio, that you weren't actually at the scene when Mr. McMurphy was arrested?" 

"What the *hell* has this to do with---" 

"Just answer the question, Detective." The judge sounded bored with the proceedings, and McMurphy looked amused. 

"No. I was not at the damned scene." Ray shot a look at Fraser. 

"So you have no actual...*evidence* that the electrical cord found at the scene was in fact used by Mr. McMurphy as the murder weapon?" St. Laurent paced back and forth in front of him, moving in for the kill. 

"I know the bastard did it!" Ray glanced wildly at the judge. "Why the hell are you listening to this? Am I on trial here?" 

"Mr. Vecchio, I would warn you---" 

"This is bullshit!" 

Oh God, Fraser thought, Ray was really getting revved up now...he could see a particularly virulent rant coming on.... 

"Am I on trial here? Or is this an extradition hearing to get that piece of garbage over there---" At this, McMurphy raised his head "---sent north so the Canucks can have him?" 

"Mr. Vecchio, you are in contempt---" 

Ray bolted out of the chair. "*Fuck* you---" 

Oh God. Fraser dropped his head. This was it. Now the shit would hit the fan. "Ray---" 

"I would caution you to stay out of this, Constable." Louise St. Laurent swiveled in his direction as if mounted on wheels. "Any involvement on your part could be seen as conflict of interest." Her gaze held his for a long moment, a contemptuous glance. Fraser shuddered. What a bitch. 

"Bailiff!" The sound of the falling gavel resounded through the courtroom like a whipcrack. Two uniformed officers ascended the dais and caught Ray between them, and Fraser heard the unmistakeable snap of a handcuff clasp. He turned as Ray was led past him. 

"Don't let them get away with this!" Ray's fingers brushed his sleeve. "Do what you have to, but make this right, Benny!" 

Fraser could only stare as they led him away. The Middle: 

"Hey, take it easy with the suit, wouldya?" Ray turned to snarl at the shorter of the two bailiffs, a futile gesture, seeing as how he was the one in cuffs. Damn! but this was *not* good, not good at all. 

"You just keep your mouth shut and keep your nose clean, Vecchio; you gonna be just fine." The taller bailiff, fat and bucolic, chuckled to himself. "We gonna give you a nice new suit of clothes in the pen." 

The penitentiary? What the fuck?! "Hey, I ain't going to no pen--not on contempt charges! You'd better check your records---" His protest was cut short as he was unceremoniously shoved into the back seat of a patrol car, the door slammed in his face. "Hey! Get me the hell outta here--I ain't going to no pen, not on contempt--*hey*! Listen to me, you bastard---" 

His stomach dropped into his boots as the car gave a lurch and pulled away from the curb, and for one absurd millisecond he was close to tears. This was not good, not good at all. 

Benton Fraser spotted Louise St. Laurent coming out of the courthouse and charged after her, his long legs eating up the sidewalk. "Ms. St. Laurent! If I might have a word---" 

She was getting away-- "Excuse me, I wonder if I might---" 

Louise St. Laurent spun around to face him, a movement so swift that it rocked Fraser back on his heels. "What?!" 

"Exactly where is Detective Vecchio being taken? I see no need of a patrol car when cases of contempt are usually remanded to the lockup." Fraser's blue eyes were steely; only rarely did he have to hold his anger so firmly in check. 

"*Mister* Fraser: I really have neither the time nor the inclination." 

She moved to go, but Fraser caught her by the arm. "Excuse me, I wasn't quite done." The tone was polite, but the tall Canadian was very angry. Where the hell did she get off? This was *Ray* they were talking about! "Could you please answer my question?" 

"Your *friend* is being taken to the Cook Country Correctional Facility. I'm sure you can arrange to see him during visiting hours." 

"Correctional facility?!" Fraser stared at her, a heated ball of anger blooming deep inside his chest. "Are you *insane*?! Do you know what they do to cops there?" He felt his throat getting tight, the coursing flood of anger thrilling through his bones, skipping along his skin. "And why the hell is he---it's a *contempt* charge, for Christ's sake!" 

St. Laurent gazed at him for a long moment, her mouth pursed in a thoughtful moue. "Contempt? I'm afraid not. We've booked Detective Vecchio on charges of fabricating evidence---which carries a slightly higher penalty than contempt, as I'm sure you're aware." She looked him up and down, a flickering glance, a contemptuous gesture. "Let go of my arm." 

Fraser bit hard on the inside of his mouth. "With pleasure." He watched her walk away, her high heels clicking on the sidewalk. "Whose side are you on, anyway?" 

"Now calm down, son." 

Oh God. 

"No, not God, just your old man." 

Dad. Oh, this is great! Fraser thought. Now I can stand here in the middle of the sidewalk and have a heart-to-heart with my dead father... "Dad, this really isn't a good time." A couple of old ladies stared at Fraser, parted to move around him, twittering between themselves. 

"What? Tis always a good time to talk to your old man." Bob Fraser, recently deceased, stood in front of him. Of course, only Ben could see him. And hear him. Geez.... "Now, what's up with that Yank friend of yours? Seems like he's after getting himself into a spot of trouble." 

"Dad, I really don't have time for this--*please*." Fraser's blue eyes pleaded with him. "Ray is in real trouble, and I have to help him." 

"How ya gonna do that?" Bob Fraser produced a candy cane from regions unknown and sucked loudly on it. "Oh, I forgot your Christmas gift--ya want a candy cane?" 

"Dad--we've been through this. That's not a real candy cane- -what are you *doing* here, anyway?" He was starting a headache, he could feel it, right behind his eyes.... 

"You want to help that Yank, you gotta go where the trouble is, son. That's what's wrong with you: you're always trying to work things arse-foremost! You gotta go where the trouble is!" 

Ben lifted his head, gazed for a moment at his father. "What are you saying?" 

"Well---" Bob Fraser slurped his candy cane appreciatively. "The best place to keep an eye on him is to be right by his side." 

"And how am I supposed to do that? Get myself thrown into prison?" 

"Sure! Why not. Can't make an omelet without breakin' a few eggs, I always say..." Fraser Senior chuckled at his little *bon mot* and promptly disappeared. 

"Benny?" Ray stared through the triple-layered glass that separated them, his hand clenched tightly around the telephone receiver. 

"How are you, Ray?" Fraser's gaze took silent inventory, noting Vecchio's haunted expression, the slight tremor in his hands. 

"Oh, just great!" He tried to sound offhanded, but his voice quivered in the middle. "Me and a few old pals of mine, you know how it is." He forced a smile, for Fraser's sake. "Getting to know each other." 

"What happened to your cheek?" 

"Oh, that? Nothing much--cut myself shaving." It was a ragged-edged gash and it looked like somebody had sliced him with the wrong end of a rusty tin can.... 

"Ray..." Fraser swallowed hard, tried to quell the fear that clenched itself like a fist inside his stomach. "Who did that to you?" 

"Nobody!" Ray snapped. "Would you just drop it?" He pressed a hand to his forehead, took a deep breath. God, this place was starting to unhinge him already... "I didn't get much sleep last night." 

Fraser smiled. "Noisy cellmate?" 

"No. Two of the guards kicked the shit out of this guy in the hall." Ray bit his bottom lip savagely, couldn't look Fraser in the eye. "I'm scared," he whispered angrily, "they know I'm a cop, Benny!" 

"Ray, listen to me..." 

"Benny! You gotta do something..." He felt shaky and weak from too little sleep, no food. Everything he'd eaten that morning had promptly come back up; it was stress, he always got that way when he got stressed out. And this would *definitely* qualify as stress... 

"I will try to help you. I promise." Fraser couldn't look him in the eye. How could he help him? With what? Was he ready to take his father's mad advice? 

"I know you will." There was a long pause. "They're gonna kill me." It was very matter-of-fact, typical of Ray, but Fraser knew what was really going on, knew that Ray would never have said it if it weren't true. 

He hung up the phone and left. 

"Hey, Vecchio!" The shout resounded down the narrow corridor, bounced off the walls. 

Ray didn't look up, kept walking. He was scheduled to be in the laundry room now, taking over his shift of assigned chores. If he was late, it was his ass.... 

"Hey, Vecchio! I'm talking to you!" A gutteral grunt, the baritone booming of male laughter. "Vecchio! You wanna do my laundry?" 

Ray slid a glance over his shoulder, saw McMurphy, three of the other goons from cell block four. "Bite me," he muttered. 

"What's that, Vecchio? Did you say something?" One of the bigger ones, Johnson his name was, sidled up along the wall, while the others surrounded him from behind, effectively blocking his way. "You talking to me, Vecchio?" 

Ray turned around. "I said---" 

A fist shot out, caught him high up on the cheek, slammed him back against the wall. Brilliant stars burst behind his eyelids; it felt like getting hit by a bus, and for a moment he reeled dizzily on the ragged edge of consciousness. Something warm and wet burst inside his mouth, streamed down his chin. Blood. 

He was choking, gagging on it, trying to raise his sleeve to stanch the flow when one of them slammed a fist into his stomach, slapped him down. This is how I'm going to die, he thought wildly... Oh Jesus, I still owe Fraser that ten bucks--- 

"What is this?!" The voice came out of nowhere, laced with anger. "Do you men have somewhere to be?" 

Ray felt the big one drop him, and he sunk down gladly onto the cool tiles, embraced the smooth white floor. He was lying face-down in blood, but it didn't matter, nothing matter... They weren't hitting him anymore. 

"Who the fuck are you?" McMurphy moved out of the crowd, slid along the wall, a slick-skinned monster. "You his daddy, big boy?" 

"I think you should leave him alone." 

That voice... 

"Really?" McMurphy giggled, a high-pitched girlish laugh, a sound that curdled the blood like fingernails on blackboard. "And who might you be?" 

"That really is none of your business. Now leave him alone." 

God, I know that *voice*... 

McMurphy lunged, was neatly caught and tossed off-balance, his thumb pinioned painfully, straining back towards his wrist. 

"I asked you nicely to leave my friend alone. Next time, I will not ask you *nicely.*" The voice was cool, but the threat was very real, and for a moment, something primal and atavistic hovered in the air. One of the goons grunted, but McMurphy waved him off. 

"We were just trying to welcome Detective Vecchio. Make him feel at home." How McMurphy could continue to talk was unknown; he must be in incredible pain. But then again, someone so immune to the pain of his victims probably had no such capacity.... 

"If you ever touch Detective Vecchio again--" 

"You'll *what?*" That girlish giggle. 

"I will kill you." 

That voice...calm and steady. And deadlier than Ray had ever heard it... "Benny..." 

Fraser reached down and helped Vecchio to his feet, backed away from McMurphy and his pals. "Are you alright?" 

"Oh, just great! Never better." It was difficult to talk through the swelling in his lip, though... 

"Hey, Vecchio, we were gonna take you dancing." One of the others laughed. "But you already got a boyfriend." 

"We'll be watching." McMurphy slid along the corridor, the other men in tow. "Just to see how nice a couple you two make." 

"Stop moving your head. I can hardly--" 

"Jesus, Benny, it hurts!" Ray flinched away from the cotton ball in Fraser's hand, cradled his head between his palms. They were back in the cell. 

"Ray, if I don't put something on it, it'll get infected." Fraser grabbed him and dabbed the iodine on both the cut on Ray's cheek and the one on his lip. "You really should go to the infirmary." 

"No thank you." Ray lay back on the bunk; his head was throbbing. "What the hell are you doing in here, anyway?" 

"Long story." Fraser sighed, glanced about the cell that he and Ray shared. "Involving Lt. Welsh, my father, the justice system---" 

"Yeah well, give me the short version." Ray was in pain, he felt peevish and crabby, but at least Fraser was here, and that was something. 

"I got myself arrested." 

Ray sat up. Suddenly. "Ow! You got yourself *arrested*? What the hell for?" 

Fraser was suddenly very quiet. 

"Tell me." 

"Ray, it's really not---" 

"*Tell* me!" His cheek was throbbing, maybe the cut was already infected.... 

"Lieutenant Welsh and I discussed it and we figured that you could use some backup." 

"I could use some *backup*? *Backup*?" Ray was incredulous; what in hell did Fraser think he was doing? 

"Ray. You could get killed in here." Fraser shrugged. "I...simply didn't want to see that happen." 

Ray stared at him. "So you appointed yourself guardian of my ass?" In light of what McMurphy and his pals had insinuated, *that* was a particularly apt phrase... Good God. 

"In a manner of speaking, yes." 

"Why?" 

Fraser sighed. Could Ray possibly be that dense? "Because you're my friend. Honestly, Ray, it makes perfect sense." 

"Oh yeah, it makes perfect sense!" Ray lay back down, clutched the pillow to his sore head. "Now we'll both get killed." He sat up, wagged a finger at Fraser. "You wait till they start yelling 'I smell bacon!' and then see how brave you feel!" He lay back down. "Huh. Backup." 

The lights flickered in cell block four, went out abruptly. Fraser scrambled to get into his bunk before the warden came along. 

"Benny?" 

"Yes, Ray?" 

"Thanks." The Middle: 

Warden Karen Walker paced a slow tattoo up and down the steel corridor that delineated the confines of cell block four, tapped her nightstick gently against her thigh as she walked. Her wide brown eyes scanned the space in front of her, but she was aware of everything; behind her wire-rimmed glasses her dark eyes were alert and watchful, missing nothing. 

Hopefully tonight would be quiet. There had been quite enough commotion for one day, she thought. It was a shame about that new prisoner, Detective Vecchio. She'd heard he'd been pretty badly beaten up. 

She passed his cell now, tiptoed near the door and glanced through the bars at Vecchio and his cell-mate, the Mountie. What *he* was doing here was anybody's guess, unless it was that nasty McMurphy business, and she doubted that. What did a Mountie do to get arrested? Spit on some old lady's shoes? Karen giggled to herself, pressed a hand against her mouth to stifle her laughter. 

"Is something funny, ma'am?" The dark figure on the top bunk was awake, leaning on one elbow, and he was looking at her-- the Mountie. 

"I'm sorry, but it's lights out. You go back to sleep." She nodded at him through the bars--handsome bastard. Give it up, Karen--he's incarcerated, and you know the rules. 

"I'm Constable Fraser--Ben. And you are?" He was leaning off the bed, as close to the bars as possible, in order to whisper and not wake his friend. That in itself was unusual, Karen thought; you didn't often see such small considerations in a place like this. And Vecchio--in the bottom bunk--looked to be sleeping soundly, curled up on his side. For some reason, this made her glad: McMurphy and his goons had really beaten him up; for certain he could use some rest. 

"Karen Walker. Please sir, lie down and go to sleep." She leaned close to the bars, could see his face in the semi- darkness. God! An involuntary shiver ran down her spine...he was gorgeous.... 

"Yes ma'am." Fraser nodded, crawled back into bed, and Karen moved off down the catwalk, her footsteps tapping a comforting cadence. Fraser leaned over the side of his bed, took a look at Ray, but the detective was sleeping soundly. "Hey Ray--" Fraser whispered almost soundlessly, "sleep tight." 

We have one friend in this place, he thought. And that's something. 

"YAAAAAH! Let me out, I'm dying! Ants are eating my brains!" 

Fraser bolted upright in bed, heart hammering in the darkness. What in hell was that?! 

"LET ME OUT! Ants are eating my brains...YAAAAAH!" 

"Holy shit...what in the name of God is that?" Ray Vecchio's voice was thick with sleep. "Benny?" 

"I'm not sure, Ray." Fraser hopped down off the bed, padded to the cell bars and peered out, craning his neck to see as far as he could down the catwalk. 

"YAAAAAH! Aliens...help me! Call Mulder and Scully!" 

"Excuse me, sir..." It was the fellow in the next cell. "But my friend is trying to sleep. I'm afraid you're disturbing him." 

The man in question--whom Fraser of course couldn't see-- merely keened again, shrieking into the darkness. "Aliens! Call Mulder! Call Scully! Call the FBI!" 

"Excuse me, sir, but my friend---" 

"Aliens!" 

Ray was suddenly at his side. "Shut the fuck up!" He grimaced at Fraser in the darkness. "Why do you always have to be so damned polite?" He craned his neck, trying to see around the corner. "Shut up! I'm trying to sleep, okay...?" 

Fraser heard the approaching warden's footsteps. "Ah, Miss Walker--this gentleman appears to be in some kind of difficulty-- -" 

Karen rattled her nightstick against the bars, sending the occupant of the next cell cringing back into the darkness. "Keep it down, Jimmy!" She passed by Fraser and Vecchio, crouched against the bunks. "Go back to sleep, guys. That's just Jim McDaniels. Around here we call him "Crazy Jim." 

"Geez---" the voice came from behind Fraser, deep within the confines of the bottom bunk "I wonder why?" 

Fraser stood behind Ray in the breakfast line, making sure that McMurphy and his goons didn't choose to re-enact their earlier performance. He waited until they both had filled their trays before moving to the back of the lunch room, looking for an available place to sit. 

"Hey, there's Crazy Jim." Ray motioned towards the back of the room. "Maybe we should sit with him." 

Fraser nodded, started moving in that direction. 

"I wasn't *serious*!" But it was too late. 

"Good morning, Mr. McDaniels. I'm Constable Benton Fraser and this is Detective Raymond Vecchio." Fraser slid into a seat next to Crazy Jim, leaving Ray no choice but to follow suit. 

"Are you from the FBI?" McDaniels stared at them over the rim of his cup. "Did you get my messages?" 

Ray sneered. "What messages? From that little ball the aliens put up your nose?" 

"You *know* about that?" McDaniels tugged on Ray's sleeve, pulled him closer. "Did they get you, too?" 

Ray shrugged, dug into his eggs. "Oh yeah, all the time." 

Fraser began buttering his toast. "Mr. McDaniels, I'm curious about something---" 

"Did you call Mulder and Scully? Are they coming to take the ball out of my nose?" 

"Coming to take that bomb outta your head..." Ray stirred his coffee disconsolately. "Lookit Fraser, he's not gonna be any help, he's nuts!" 

And then Crazy Jim did a crazy thing... 

He leaned over Fraser's breakfast tray and spat out a folded wad of paper... 

Ray felt his stomach coil itself in readiness, and he forced his eyes shut, pushing back the nausea. "Oh my *God*!" 

McDaniels flickered a grin at Fraser and in a perfectly-sane tone of voice whispered, "Read it. I'm one of you." 

And abruptly left, his tray untouched. 

"Fraser--" 

"Ray, this is amazing!" 

"Fraser, I'm gonna be *sick*!" 

"Ray!" Fraser unfolded the wet square gingerly, held it between finger and thumb and spread it out on the table. "Look." 

WELSH KNOWS AND IS DOING HIS BEST. KEEP THE FAITH. 

"Oh my God." Ray felt a flush of heat in the back of his neck. "He's a cop. Crazy Jim is a cop." 

Fraser nodded. "And definitely not crazy...." 

Next morning, in the showers, McMurphy's goons chose to make their entrance. Bad enough, Ray thought, to have to shower naked in front of a bunch of other guys, without that kind of grief. But there they were, as large as life... 

"Ah, Geez. Fraser, gimme your soap, I just dropped mine." Ray glanced around the shower room, noted where the three men were stationed. Since he and Fraser had been on laundry duty early this morning, they were later getting to the showers than usual. It looked like McMurphy and his cronies had planned their schedules to coincide. 

"Hey, Vecchio---you enjoying that new boyfriend of yours? Or you want us to take you dancing?" 

Ray turned, was restrained by Fraser's hand on his arm. "Ray." The Mountie's voice was quiet. "Don't give them the satisfaction." He handed Ray the bar of soap. "Just ignore it." 

"Mighty tasty!" 

"Listen---" 

"Ray!" Fraser poked him in the shoulder. "Give it *up*!" 

"Maybe we oughta come over there and sample your new boy- toy, Vecchio. You feel like sharing this morning?" 

"Fraser, so help me God---" 

"You know, gentlemen, I really don't like what I'm seeing here." McMurphy had joined them; his oily tones were hard to miss. He continued in a conversational manner. "These two gentlemen are really not behaving themselves, are they?" He glanced over his shoulder at his friends, who cackled ominously. 

Ray felt the short hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "Fraser, I gotta get out of here---" 

"Stay put." Fraser's voice was a low hiss. "If you move, they'll be on you. It's not worth it." 

"Let's see some affection, boys." McMurphy was leaning against the wall near Fraser, arms crossed casually on his chest in a gesture that was at once absurd and chilling. This was one sick puppy, Fraser thought. For fifty cents I'd take the bastard out. 

"Go away." Fraser deliberately kept his voice light and didn't meet McMurphy's gaze. "Your water is getting cold." 

"Not until you give me what I want." He dabbled a finger in the spray, deflecting the water so that it hit Fraser in the face. "Nowhere to run now, Mister Mountie. You gonna show us the goods?" 

Ray fervently wished for the floor to open up and swallow him; this was just too awful, this wasn't worth it, he'd let them beat him up rather than see Fraser humiliated like this, "Alright, asshole---" 

"Ray!" Fraser's fingers dug into his arm, a grip like steel, and the message in his eyes was unmistakable. 'Shut up.' He parlayed his grip into a caress, slid his hand up Ray's bare arm. "I'm sorry, Ray---" 

What the hell...? Why was Fraser whispering like that? 

Oh God. It hit Ray quite literally like a ton of bricks. 

He's going to kiss me.... 

The first touch was shocking, like being on the connecting end of a raw electrical current, and Ray had to force himself not to fight against it: Fraser's hands on his face, his thumb, tracing his bottom lip while Fraser bent closer to him-- 

\--this isn't happening! 

Ray's hands moved of their own accord and fastened around Fraser's wrists *stop this right now!* but slid along his friend's wet skin 

\--oh God this can't be 

A faint tickle, the flicker of another tongue, the smooth heat, lips tugging at his mouth, hands fastened to his face; then deeper: total contact, a sensual suck and pull, tongue-tip flicker and a bloom of heat, melting, melting... Fraser's forehead, pressed for an instant against his own, their faces close together, a barely-audible whisper, "I'm sorry...." before Fraser released him, stepped away. He couldn't meet Ray's gaze. 

"Very nice!" McMurphy grinned at them. "Wanna try that on me sometime?" 

Ray's head snapped around, a burning gaze in McMurphy's direction. "Fuck off." Suddenly, he could no longer look Fraser in the eye. 

"Ray?" Fraser leaned over the bunk, peered down at the bottom bed. "Are you alright?" 

"Leave me alone." 

Fraser sank back down on his bed, silent for a moment. "I had no choice, Ray." 

"You didn't have to do *that*!" The American's voice was strangled, as angry as Fraser had ever heard him. "You had no right, there were a million other ways---" 

"There was no other way!" Fraser roared, hanging over the bunk. He was furious, as angry with himself as he was with Ray; and confused: what in hell did all this mean? 

"Just stay away from me, Fraser." 

Just stay away. 

"Ray?" Fraser hopped down off his bunk, peered into the bottom bunk. "You have to talk to me sometime." 

"Not in this lifetime." Ray's back was turned; the effect for Fraser was like talking to a shirt. 

"Ray, I've already explained this---" 

"Just shut up, Fraser!" Ray sat up abruptly, got out of bed. 

"Ray--" Fraser sighed. This was exasperating, and certainly tried his patience. "Would you please---" 

"Ah, he's not gonna listen to ya, son. Might as well talk to the walls, sure." 

Perfect. 

"Dad, not now." 

"What?" Bob Fraser. "Too big to take a little advice from your old man?" Today, Fraser was wearing a heavy parka and fur mitts over his Mountie uniform; he looked as if he were outfitted for an Antarctic expedition. 

"Dad, why are you dressed like that?" 

"Cold out--winter. Didn't anybody tell you? Gotta keep warm." Bob Fraser flipped open a hidden pocket in his parka and extracted a candy cane. 

"What possible difference could cold make in your condition?!" Ben Fraser rubbed his forehead in exasperation. 

"Don't take that tone with me--" Bob Fraser slurped his candy cane appreciatively. "What if I went out into that cold Arctic wilderness and never came back again?" 

"You're already *dead*! How much worse could it be?" Fraser sat down on Ray's bunk, watched his friend move around the room. "Ray, would you please---" 

The Italian snapped around, his face set. "Fraser, one more word and I'll pop you one, I swear it." 

"Fine. Just pop me one, then." Fraser stuck out his chin, closed his eyes. "Right here, on the chin. Here. I'll just sit here and make it easy for you---" 

"I am not going to hit you." 

Fraser opened his eyes. His father had thankfully disappeared. "Why not?" 

Ray stared at him. "Are you insane, Fraser? I'm not going to hit you." 

"Why not, Ray? I've been hit with worse." 

Vecchio made a face. "Yeah. A dead sea otter." 

"Sea otter...fists...rocks...do you know, Ray, someone tried to hit me once with a loaf of bread. Can you imagine? A loaf of bread! I mean, even given that it was freshly-baked and therefore rather too soft to do any real damage---" 

"Fraser!" Ray stared at him for a long, tense moment. 

"Ray--" 

"Why the *hell* did you do it, Fraser?" The Italian sounded rather more weary than angry. "You *know* I'm not like that, I---" 

"Well, neither am I!" 

"Not that there's anything wrong with it, but I just--" Ray leaned back against the wall, rubbed his forehead with his open palm. Jesus, this was hard: why did talking to Fraser so often remind him of swimming upstream through thick mud? "I don't feel that way about you." 

"I know that, Ray. I don't feel that way about you, either." Fraser glanced up at him. "Uh, no offense. I mean--" He nodded towards Ray, "--it's not that you aren't a perfectly attractive and uh, well-dressed person, I mean, you are; not that I've been watching you or anything, because as I've already stated, I---" 

"Fraser." 

"Yes, Ray?" 

"Shut up." Ray tried hard not to smile, lost that battle almost immediately. "Hey, how come everything with you is a goddamn monologue? I mean, did they teach you that in school or something? Turn every conversation into some long, boring speech?" 

"I'm sorry, Ray. It's a defect I'm trying to overcome." 

Ray nodded. "Fraser, I just wanna say one thing." 

"Yes, Ray?" 

"Don't kiss me anymore." 

"Understood." Fraser stood up, offered Ray his hand. "However, should your life be in further danger, I will take steps to protect you. As both your friend and as a fellow law officer, it is my sworn duty to uphold--" 

"Fraser, just shut up, wouldya?!" 

The prison laundry room was perfectly empty by the time Fraser and Vecchio made their way downstairs; all that awaited them were the piles of dirty clothing and large white laundry bags that had come to symbolise their days here. 

"I'm in laundry hell," Ray sighed, stepping over a pile of socks. "All because of Louise St. Laurent. Hey, why do you think she hates me so much?" 

Fraser shrugged. "It's not Ms. St. Laurent that concerns me so much as getting out of here, Ray." Fraser lifted a box of detergent. "Every day we spend in here puts us further in danger; my main concern is getting us out of here as soon as possible. Could you pass me the bleach?" 

"Yeah, bleach. Busted my ass climbing up through the ranks so I can stand here washing some con's dirty unmentionables. This is too rich...." 

"Gentlemen." 

Both Fraser and Vecchio looked up at the familiar sound of Jim McDaniels'voice. For once, McDaniels had dropped the "Crazy Jim" persona and stood before them in his own guise. "How are things progressing down here?" 

"Oh just fabulous, thank you for asking." Ray's tone was perfectly acerbic. "Almost spiritual, you might say. For instance, at the moment I find myself contemplating the metaphysical significance of separating the darks from the whites...." 

"Ray--" Fraser frowned at him. "Detective McDaniels, I can't tell you what a pleasure it is to know you're on our side." 

"Well, I have news from Lieutenant Welsh---" 

"What, he sent us some dryer sheets?" Ray dumped a load of socks into the industrial-size washing machine and set the dials. 

"Not exactly." McDaniels grinned. "Your release orders just came through---" 

"What?!" Ray stared at him, his features fixed into the expression of a man who has realised his most profound delight. He leapt over a bag of shirts and snatched the sheet of paper out of McDaniels' hand. "Fraser! We are getting out of here--today!" 

Fraser gazed at McDaniels for a moment in silence. "How did this happen?" he asked finally. "Detective Vecchio is charged with fabricating evidence, I would hardly guess---" 

"Ah, don't look a gift horse in the mouth, son!" Bob Fraser was sitting on top of the dryer. "My, lovely spin to this thing, isn't it? Quite invigorating..." He produced the inevitable candy cane, fitted it into the corner of his mouth like a pipe. "Look at your friend there, he looks ready to collapse. Give the poor bugger a break...." 

"Ah..." McDaniels' grin came and went like a lightning flash. "It seems that Madam State's Attorney has...er...*recanted* on her earlier position. You are both cordially invited to the extradition hearing of Larry McMurphy tomorrow morning." 

"Jim---" Fraser shook the detective's hand. "Thank you. Knowing you were on our side made it a lot more bearable." 

He waited until McDaniels had gone before turning back to Ray, who was crouched over the washing machine, eagerly reading the release forms. 

"What time are we supposed to be released, Ray?" 

"At noon! Fraser, we are getting *out* of this hellhole--" Vecchio's face was beaming. 

"Well, Ray, we *are* assigned to the laundry, and as you can see, there is still quite a bit of work to do. Don't you think we should stay and complete our assigned duties before---" 

"Ahhhh, 'assigned duties'---" Vecchio had Fraser by the collar and was herding him out the door. "I'm getting out of here, Fraser. Now be quiet and do as you're told." 

"Of course." 

"Now, we've got everything?" The sound of the small plane's engines nearly drowned out Fraser's voice; he was bent near the door, loading equipment onto the plane in preparation for their trip north. 

"Far as I can tell, yeah." Ray Vecchio had to shout to be heard above the engine noise. "Did you put my other bags on the plane?" 

Fraser nodded. "Come on, let's get going." He waited until Vecchio was inside, then followed and shut the door behind him. Diefenbaker was already snoozing on a pile of baggage in the rear of the plane, his head between his paws. 

"Ah...three whole weeks in the Canadian wilderness, Fraser." Ray was smiling, his whole person much more notably relaxed than in recent days. Now that the entire fiasco was behind them, and McMurphy was safely extradited, he could relax and enjoy his much-anticipated (albeit belated) winter vacation. 

"Nothing quite like it anywhere, Ray." Fraser glanced out the window. 

"You know Fraser, the Lieutenant never did tell us how he pulled it off--getting us out, I mean." 

Fraser nodded slowly. "You're right. I mean, we know that St. Laurent withdrew her statement---" 

"Ugh." Ray shuddered. "Don't mention Louise St. Laurent to me, alright?" 

"She apologised to you, didn't she?" Fraser clearly recalled seeing her talking to Ray earlier that day, when they'd stopped off at the precinct to tie up some last-minute business. 

"Yeah, she did." Ray admitted this grudgingly; he wasn't quite ready to relinquish his resentment of her. After all, it was her statement that had gotten him thrown into jail in the first place. "I still don't know why she hates me so much." 

The End 


End file.
